The massive success of
the Manics
' post-
Richey James
albums put them in an awkward position. They were always known for their agit-prop and political posturing, which sometimes enhanced their music, sometimes distracted from it, sometimes saved it. But, as their star began to rise and
Nicky Wire
became the group's chief writer, they lost some of their bile and bite -- just as their music turned into lush
arena rock
. So, even if the sales and reviews were good, it was time to strike back with a harsh, political record -- hence,
Know Your Enemy
. The block-type cover art reveals that at a glance, and so does the ferocious opener,
"Found That Soul,"
both suggesting their dark high watermark,
The Holy Bible
. Then, as the album dips into
"Ocean Spray,"
briefly returning to the feel of
This Is My Truth
, it becomes clear that this, for want of a better word, is an epic. This is the album where
tie all their disparate strands together, up the political ante, try new things, all in an attempt to prove they're still vital. When it works, this can be pretty invigorating, but when it doesn't, it's utterly maddening. The push and pull of the ridiculous and the passionate have always made
a fascinating band, but here, it teeters precariously between sublime and silly.
The Manics
sound the most convincing when they return to raging rockers, or on their sweeping mid-tempo arena
ballads
. When they stretch, they fall on their face, whether it's on the intentional
disco
parody
"Miss Europa Disco Dancer"
or on
"So Why So Sad,"
yet another god-awful, lumbering
Brian Wilson
homage. Then, there's the politicizing -- strident polemics that still sound like rants from collegiate sophomores, those still infatuated with
Marxism
, railing about injustice from 50 years ago and learning a bit of art history, then peppering their discourse with references to reveal just how well-read they are. So, this results in the contemptible
"Baby Elian"
(merely a prelude to the album's launch concert in Cuba, where they earned the status as the first Western
rock
band to play and have dinner with
Castro
-- bully for them), the fine if forced
"Let Robeson Sing,"
the awkward
"My Guernica,"
and the charming
"Freedom of Speech Won't Feed My Children,"
which finds
Richard Gere
to be the ambassador for ugly, hypocritical American liberalism, somehow tying "kissing the
Dali Lama
's ass" into the bombing of the Chinese Embassy. Now,
, under
James
and
Wire
alike, have always walked this line (particularly on
, where it worked because of the intense rage of the lyrics and music), but here the targets seem a little lazy and obvious, and since they pour out over the course of a record that runs an interminable 74 minutes (including space that separates the 16th track and a bonus track), they no longer seem like quirks, they seem like crutches. They severely harm a record that rocks harder, sounds better, than anything since
disappeared -- but lacks the sense of craft that made
Everything Must Go
a minor masterpiece. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine